


Power Imbalance

by PaigeTurner



Series: More than Six [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Angst, Clint & Natasha & Phil friendship, F/M, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Abuse, Phil & Natasha are besties, Violence, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 08:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaigeTurner/pseuds/PaigeTurner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Phil and Clint got together. How Clint & Natasha & Phil became friends. How Natasha's troubled past doesn't reflect her future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fairly long and fairly dark bit of fanfiction.

_They sent six men to kill her. They got six body bags. They sent ten men to kill her. They got two thousand pounds of flesh. They sent twenty men to kill her. They got a handful of ash. Finally, in desperation, they sent one man to kill her._

“You haven’t told me yet how stupid this was,” Clint observed.

Phil looked at the archer. He looked at the drugged, bound woman on the other side of the small room. “Very,” he said dryly.

“You don’t think she can change?” Clint watched his handler’s face. “Or you don’t think it was worth trying?”

Phil sighed.

“Is she really so different from me when you found me?” Clint asked.

“Well, you hadn't killed forty SHIELD agents in seven months’ time.” Phil rubbed his temples. “You could be reasoned with. You… had a morality scale I understood.” He shook his head. “I won’t say that she can’t be useful to us. I will say it wasn't worth the risk.”

“A woman who can kill twenty well-trained, well-armed agents without breaking a sweat wasn't worth the risk to bring her to our side?” Clint argued.

“The risk was your life, Clint,” Agent Coulson snapped back. Clint was a little cowed by the man’s use of his first name. “You’re worth ten of her.”

“I can’t do half of what she can do.”

Phil didn't have an answer. He couldn't explain to Clint that he was worth more because of who he was and not what he could or couldn't do. There was no way he could phrase it that wouldn't sound unprofessional. He moved forward to check her pulse again.

“What’ll happen to her when we get back?” Clint asked.

“Psyche evaluations. Tests. Some physical, mostly mental, emotional. Testing for stability, biddableness… her abilities are well documented. They’ll have to sort out whether or not she can be trusted. And if they thought she could be, you wouldn't have gotten this mission in the first place.”

“If she fails, will they kill her?”

“It’s hard to say,” Phil replied. “She’s very dangerous.”

“I read the profile.”

Phil sighed again. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and middle finger. “The Red Room has tampered with her mind, tampered with her memories, inserted triggers and programming. It’s going to very tough, for her, when we change all that. We have to change it.”

“And?”

“And she might not be okay after it’s done. She definitely won’t be the woman you met today.”

Clint’s face fell a little. A frown knitted itself into his brow.

“She has to be unmade, Barton. Then remade, hopefully into an agent of SHIELD.” Coulson reached into his bag and found a vial and a syringe. “I’ll give her this: her metabolism is nothing short of incredible.” Clint watched the older man’s steady hands as he drew out a small dose of the sedative into the syringe. They both ran the same calculations in their heads of her weight and how much she’d already had and how long ago. Phil sterilized a little spot on her arm.

Clint heard the footsteps of the extraction team. When he looked back at Coulson, it was done. There was a little shudder in the next breath she drew. Then they weren't alone any more. The three of them became a dozen and a half of them. Two of them hoisted her between them and Clint could've carried her easily on her own but didn't dare say so. He was jostled away from Coulson, jostled on to the jet and ignored.

“I’m with the prisoner,” Coulson informed the extraction team. Clint breathed a little sigh of relief when no one argued. No one spoke to him or even really looked at him and by the time they reached New York, Clint had the sense that he was in deep shit.

***

“So,” Fury said the moment he laid eyes on Barton. “What’d she offer you in exchange for her life?”

“A fuck,” Clint replied. “But I turned her down. She knows more about the Red Room than anyone we've ever been able to take alive.” He privately thought she probably knew more about SHIELD than half the people in the room.

“Coulson,” Fury called out. Phil froze in the doorway, watching a pair of men lug off their prize.

“Sir?”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Nowhere, sir,” Coulson sighed. He’d protected her for as long as he could, a whopping seven hours.

“We need to have discussion about the parameters of this mission.” Fury glanced at Clint. “He goes to isolation until I’m ready to deal with him.”

As much as he hated isolation, Clint was grateful that Coulson would have an opportunity to smooth things over and calm Fury down before Clint had to face the director. He let himself be escorted to a little grey room and settled in to wait.

Clint napped a little, woke and paced the room. A couple agents he didn't know came and escorted him to the bathroom then back to isolation. They left him with a bottle of water and a pack of peanut M & Ms. Clint ate and drank and waited.

When Fury came, Coulson was at his heels.

“What were you thinking?” Fury asked gently.

Clint shook his head. “I don’t know. I've been allowed, even encouraged, to trust my instincts. My gut said ‘don’t shoot’.”

“Coulson says it was good shot, a clean kill. No reason to hesitate.”

“It was a good shot. I just didn't take it.”

Fury’s shoulders sagged. “We’re going to try this, Barton. But when it doesn't work out, you’re going to take that shot. And you should watch yourself for a bit. You aren't officially in any kind of trouble, but you’re on real thin ice.”

“No.” Clint’s voice was quiet but firm. “When I agreed to this job, the only condition was that I get to decide whether or not to take the shot. I made my decision.”

The anger flared back to life in Fury’s eye.

“I’ll do it,” Coulson offered. “If it comes to that, I’ll do it.”

“You better hope it doesn't come to that,” Fury replied, dissatisfied.

“Daily, sir,” Phil answered. “Can I take my asset now?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get a little bit graphic with the sexy-times in this chapter.

Months passed. He didn't see her. No one spoke of her in his presence. Clint began to wonder if she was still alive. More months passed. He began to wonder if she’d ever been alive. He thought he might have dreamt the whole mission. He was back in Fury’s good graces, having proven himself a hundred times over. He was trusted and liked. 

On the anniversary of the mission, he looked up at Phil over a takeout carton of cheap Chinese food. “What ever happened with Romanova?”

Coulson blinked at him in surprise. “She went on active duty about two months ago.”

Clint’s eyes widened. “She…she did it? She came over? She’s one of us?”

Coulson nodded and chewed lo mein. “You did well, Barton.”

“Could...could I see her?”

Coulson took a long drink of his iced tea and thought it over. “Why is it important to you to see her?”

“I just want to know that she’s okay. That I made the right call,” Clint explained.

“You did. Can you trust me on this?”

Clint nodded but he didn't look his handler in the eye. A few moments later, he pushed aside his cashew chicken and walked to the window. There wasn't much of a view, but he stared out anyway. He stayed until he felt Phil’s hand on his shoulder.

“I trust you,” Clint whispered. “But you never see what I see. I trust my eyes.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Fury’s got good reason for keeping her isolated. If she’s working some other angle, she won’t take anyone down with her.”

“And if she’s not?” He turned to face his handler. “She spends the rest of her life as an outcast?”

“She just hasn't earned our trust yet. You’re pretty much the last person Fury will want to give her access to.”

“He doesn't trust me either?”

Phil sighed. “Of course he trusts you.”

“But?” Clint prompted.

“You brought a killer into his house.” Phil’s lack of hesitation disturbed Clint a little.

“His house full of killers? His house of spies and deceit?” Clint replied sarcastically. “To be honest, I’m a little worried that some of those agents might be a bad influence on Miss Romanova.” He pulled away from Phil angrily. “Did you, any of you, stop to think that the woman whose loyalty can’t be bought could be won with friendship? With kindness? That trust might be repaid with trust?”

“Of course it has,” Phil replied. His unflappable calm took the wind out of Clint’s sails. “That’s why she has a handler, someone she can trust. Someone who will be kind to her.”

***

“Agent Romanoff, how do you think that went?” Agent Milton’s voice was level and calm, his face impassive.

“I followed the plan to the letter,” she answered. “I got the data, no casualties, and I wasn't detected. I think it went well.”

His stoic expression broke into the fond smile she’d been hoping for. “It did go well. You performed well.”

“And you’re pleased?” she asked.

He caressed her cheek and she leaned her head into his touch. “Very. I’m so proud of you, my beautiful, talented Natasha.”

His kiss was tender but her response was hungry, leaning into his mouth eagerly. “Go and lock the door,” Milton whispered. 

“Yes sir,” Natasha replied, a smile toying at the corners of her mouth. She hurried to the door to latch it and when she turned back, he was taking off his tie. “Let me?” she asked, her voice soft. He stopped, his hand dropped to his side, the charcoal silk fluttering between his fingers like a flag. 

Her deft fingers unbuckled his belt and untucked his shirt between increasingly frantic kisses. His hands were warm and strong and sure as they roved over her back, finding the zipper on her dress. Her skin was smooth, flawless even after all the bullets and blades. It always healed without a scar. 

She unbuttoned his shirt swiftly, her nails finding his skin through the silver curls of hair that covered his chest. A moan of pleasure rumbled in his chest at the light scratches. His lips trailed up her neck, teeth finding the edge of her ear lobe and tugging lightly. He peeled the dress off her, letting it fall to the floor. He took one step back, leading her and she stepped out of the puddle of fabric. He stripped off his shirt before returning his hands to her skin. 

She kissed down his chest, leaving smudges of crimson lipstick on his pale skin. She tugged his pants down as her mouth traveled lower. Milton grinned broadly, running his long fingers over her hair. He sucked air over his teeth with a hiss as her mouth wrapped around him. “Oh,” he sighed. 

His hips rocked forward, his fingers tangling in her hair as her tongue slid along the underside of his cock. He looked down at her fondly, kneeling on the carpet in a strapless bra and matching black panties. “God, you’re beautiful,” he panted. “Get the rest of those clothes off and get on the bed.”

Natasha responded by taking him deeper into her mouth and he moaned.

“Whenever, no rush,” Milton added. She took mercy on him a few moments later, rising to her feet with liquid grace, her bra falling to the floor. She turned to walk to the bed and Milton bit his lower lip, watching as she slid her panties down and off, admiring the perfect round curve of her pale ass. “Freeze right there,” he whispered hoarsely as Natasha crawled onto the bed.

She looked over her shoulder at him, perfectly posed on her hands and knees on the bed. He licked his lips, his eyes raked over her body possessively. He let the tips of his fingers slide over her skin as he moved around her. She gave up on following him with her eyes, closing them instead to focus on the sensation of him just barely touching her. Natasha opened her eyes when she felt the bed shift. Agent Milton stretched out next to her on the mattress, smiling up at her. 

She straddled him, using one hand to position the head of his cock at the entrance of her sex. He stayed completely still, waiting tensely as she slid down over him. After she was situated, as she began to set the pace with the slow rise and fall of her hips, he reached up for her. Curling up, he mouthed her breasts, fingers tangling in her long hair as it tumbled free down her back.


	3. Chapter 3

The mission landed on Coulson’s desk a month after his conversation with Clint. As he looked over the specs, it was obvious that Barton was perfect for the sniper position. Idly curious, he flipped through to see who Fury had put on the ground infiltrating. Phil’s eyebrows went up a notch when he saw Romanoff’s name. He called the archer to his office. 

“Well, Agent Barton, you’re getting your wish,” Coulson began.

“You bought me a pony?” Clint joked. 

“You and Romanoff are going to Ireland.”

Clint’s surprised smile was genuine. “Neat. What’s the mission?”

Coulson filled him in on all the boring details, knowing full well he’d be repeating himself later. 

***

Everything went wrong in Galway. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, except maybe whoever left the explosives out of the briefing materials. Phil kept reminding himself it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It wasn’t Clint’s fault, it wasn’t Romanoff’s fault. It wasn’t his fault. He glanced at the clock. The medics had been working for a while. He drummed his fingers on his leg. Finally a nurse approached him.

“He’s stable, Agent Coulson, we’re moving him to recovery now. You should be able to go in and see him in another hour.”

An hour. “Thank you,” he said quietly. Phil reached for his tablet and cursed inwardly. “Is he awake?”

“Not yet, sir.”

Phil studied the clock for a moment. An hour was plenty of time to get back to the office they’d been using as a base, grab his tablet and return to the hospital. He thanked the nurse again as he hurried down the hall. 

He drove like a mad man back to the office building and took the stairs two at a time. 

“Sorry,” Phil announced, flinging open the door to their office, “I’ll just…” He froze.

Natasha Romanoff was bent over the desk, gripping the far edge with white-knuckled fingers. Her eyes were shut tight, her clenched teeth gleaming white behind her lips, pulled into a grimace. She was completely naked. Agent Milton stood behind her, his fingers digging into her hips, pants around his ankles but otherwise mostly dressed. 

“Be a second,” Phil finished as his brain processed the scene in front of him. He looked around quickly and found his tablet. He grabbed the device. Agent Romanoff was fastening her bra; Agent Milton was fastening his pants.

“Agent Coulson, this isn’t what it looks like,” Milton began. 

“I’m pretty sure it’s exactly what it looks like.”

Natasha bent down to collect her underwear and there was a handprint, bright pink on the pale skin of her buttocks. She pulled on the panties and began wiggling back into her cat suit. 

“You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?” she asked, looking at him with wide, innocent eyes. 

“It’s a clear violation of our policies on fraternization…”

“Geez, Phil, come on,” Agent Milton said, straightening his tie. “We both know those policies are bullshit.”

“No, Tom, those policies are in place for everyone’s protection and well-being.”

“Can we please talk?” Agent Milton asked. He was clearly embarrassed as he shuffled Phil out into the hall. “I know you’re a by-the-book guy, Phil. I respect that. Hell, I’m the same way, you know that.”

Phil cocked an eyebrow at him.

“We’re both adults, who’s it going to hurt?”

“You’re her handler, Tom. There’s an inherent power imbalance in that kind of relationship that makes it ripe for abuse, you’re exposing SHIELD to a potential sexual harassment suit and is she really emotionally stable enough for something like this?”

Tom Milton snorted. “It was her idea. Maybe I shouldn't have gone along with it but, God, Phil, have you seen the girl? She’s beautiful and lonely and I genuinely care about her. You think I’d risk my job? My marriage? Over a bit of tail? I’ll end it. If that’s what it takes, but please…”

The door opened then. Natasha had zipped the suit but not all the way, there was a distracting flash of sapphire-colored lace against her pale chest. “Agent Coulson?” she said demurely. “Phil? If there’s any way that we could keep this…” she paused and licked her lips slightly. “Our little secret, it’d mean the world to me. It would.”

Phil hesitated.

“I can’t tell you how much I’d appreciate it,” Natasha pressed, laying it on thick. “If you wouldn’t tell anyone…I’d do anything.”

There it was. Her posture, her tone, her expression, there was no doubt of her meaning.

“Anything?” Coulson repeated.

She looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Anything.”

Coulson looked from Romanoff to Milton. “I’ll think about. I've got to get back to the hospital.”

“How is Agent Barton?” Romanoff asked.

“Stable.”

***

“Have you ever given much thought to SHIELD’s fraternization policies? Specifically the handler/asset relationship?”

Agent Sitwell nearly snorted coffee out of his nose. “No, Coulson, I can’t say I have.” He gives his friend a careful look. “Something on your mind?”

“Just…thinking about it.”

“My feeling,” Sitwell replied, “Since you asked, is that two consenting adults can do whatever the hell they want, as long as they’re discreet and it doesn’t fuck anything up in the field.”

Coulson nodded slowly. Agent Milton had said it was Romanoff’s idea. Her attempt to seduce him seemed to back that idea. He wasn’t even sure who would be taking advantage of whom.

“That explosion kind of rattled your cage?” Sitwell guessed.

“Huh?”

“Almost lost your asset, now you’re reassessing what he really means to you.” Jasper shrugged. “Coulson, it’s one of those things where everybody’s willing to look the other way as long as nobody gets hurt.”

“Thanks,” Phil stammered, suddenly self-conscious, and excused himself. He wandered towards his office, his problems having doubled over breakfast. He still didn’t know what to do, if anything, about Agent Romanoff and Agent Milton and he’d probably managed to start the rumor mill churning about himself and Agent Barton. No matter how he felt about Clint, it’d never been a road he was willing to go down. And now he was considering it. Silently cursing himself, he checked the mission logs to see if Milton and Romanoff were still around.

Coulson found Natasha in the gym, on a treadmill. “Can I talk to you a minute?”

She nodded briskly and quickly shut the machine down.

“I’ve been thinking about what happened the other day,” Phil explained. “I don’t think I’ll say anything.”

Her shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank you. Have you come to take me up on my offer?”

“No,” he replied, shaking his head for emphasis. “But I have a…counter-offer. I want you to be happy, Agent Romanoff. I was part of the team that brought you here; I care about what happens to you. If things don’t go well with Agent Milton, if he hurts you, physically or emotionally, I want you to know that you can always come to me. And I’ll help you.”

Natasha blinked back her surprise. “I…” She stared down at the floor. “Thank you,” she looked up at him, composed once more. “I’ll keep that in mind. Can I finish my workout then?”

“Of course.”

Then he had the shovel talk with Agent Milton and then sat by Clint’s bedside and filled out reports on his tablet. He made sure to include in his report that Agents Barton and Romanoff had worked very well together and should be considered for future cooperative missions. And when Clint woke up, he was there.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is where the rape/non-con warning becomes relevant.

“I’ve been wondering if you’d be at all interested in going out with me?” Phil asked, using at least twice as many words as were strictly necessary.

Clint’s head shot up. “You mean…like a date?”

Phil nodded mutely. 

Clint gave him a wide-eyed smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“That’s not really a definitive…”

“Yes,” Clint interjected. “Dinner, movie, you name it. I’ll pay. For dinner. Movies, popcorn, the works. When?”

Phil had to laugh. “Friday?”

“As long as I can get off work,” Clint replied, grinning foolishly. “My boss is kind of a hard-ass about things like that.”

“No talking about work when we’re…out on a date,” Phil warned. 

“Yeah, we should maybe set some ground rules,” Clint agreed. “Okay, no talking about our personal lives while we’re working. No date planning during mission briefings, no debriefing during our debriefings.”

“No titles outside of work, no sir, no Agent Coulson and Agent Barton. Keep that here; keep the first names for when we’re off the clock.” 

“No hand-holding in the hallways,” Barton countered.

“No PDA, period,” Coulson replied. 

“Discretion is the better part of valor and all that,” Clint smiled. “We’re really going to do this?”

“Only if you want to.” Phil refused to pressure the young sharpshooter. He already felt like he’d overstepped his bounds for being the one to ask Clint out. Except that Clint had asked him out two years ago.

***

Someone had taken Agent Coulson’s recommendation about Barton and Romanoff working together to heart. There were seven shared missions in nine months’ time. He might have been jealous of the friendship the two younger agents were forming if he hadn’t been busy forming an even deeper bond with Clint. He tried to keep an eye on Milton and Romanoff. Tom seemed quite protective of his charge, maybe even a little possessive and Phil had to wonder if he and Clint looked the same way from the outside. It was tough planning a mission that could get the person you cared about killed.

They went to Cairo and Budapest and Shanghai. They went to Basrah and Bucharest. They went to Lisbon. Everything was going well. Phil was even beginning to enjoy a bit of camaraderie with Tom. Then there was Munich, where everything went wrong.

The mission was straightforward enough. There was a drug dealer they suspected of lacing his drugs with something else. Natasha was supposed to get a sample, get him to tell her who his source was and get out. Clint was just there for surveillance and back up, if she needed it. He’d begun to wonder if the surveillance part was him watching the bad guys or him watching her. It was obvious that someone, maybe even the Director, still didn’t trust the Russian. 

He was positioned in the rigging above a small stage but there wasn’t a band scheduled for the night. The weapon for the mission was a pistol with a silencer, there wasn’t room amid the lights and curtains for his bow. 

Natasha’s turquoise dress was a perfect complement to her copper hair and it had surely been picked so that no one who saw her would remember her face. The hemline left her shapely legs completely bare and the back dipped down below her waistline, offering a peek at the dimples on the back of her hips. 

Agent Barton managed to tear his eyes off her to scan the crowded club for their target. He pegged a couple of guys as hired muscle, but they could’ve been working for anyone. He didn’t see the drug dealer. He also didn’t see Natasha. Frowning, he turned on his communicator. He relaxed a little when he heard her voice, speaking fluent German.

“A friend sent me,” she said. “I want to try it.”

She must’ve found the target. Clint settled back in with a faint smile. 

“Is it safe?” she asked.

He couldn’t hear the voice of whoever she was talking to, but the club was loud, and hearing the music through the comm in addition to wafting up from the floor below was making his head throb. Natasha giggled girlishly and the comm died.

“Black Widow, do you copy?” Clint said clearly. There was nothing. No music through the open channel, no voices. He switched channels and switched back. “Black Widow, respond.” She didn’t. Barton cursed under his breath and switched the comm again. “Nest, this is Hawkeye, copy?”

“We copy,” Agent Coulson’s voice reassured him.

“ I've lost contact with Black Widow, no response on the comm, I do not have visual.”

“Hold position,” Agent Milton instructed.

“I repeat, I have no visual and no radio contact,” Clint insisted.

“Get down there and find her,” Agent Coulson interjected. “Cautiously.”

Agent Barton switched back to Natasha’s channel and holstered his pistol for the descent. Around the time his feet hit the floor backstage, he heard static resume on the comm. “Black Widow, do you copy?” He was pretty sure he couldn't hear the music through the communicator anymore. There was some kind of background noise, but no answer. Mind racing, Clint grabbed a passing waitress and pulled her backstage. He flashed his badge too quickly to be read. 

“Is there an elevator here, miss?” he asked, his German good even if his accent was obviously not native. 

The waitress frowned at him. “Yes, to the storage area only, it’s off limits.”

“Where are the stairs?”

“Who are you?” She asked.

“Agent Barton, SHIELD, take me to the stairs.”

She shook her head emphatically. “The door is kept locked. I don’t have access. You have to talk to the owner if you want to go downstairs.”

In his ear, the communicator crackled and hissed. He heard something that wasn't a word, just a moan, a sigh. It was barely more than a breath. It might have been a whimper. Clint pulled out the pistol in frustration. “Just show me where the stairs are,” he hissed at the waitress. 

Her eyes widened but she led him along the back wall and pointed to a door. “There, but it’s locked, sir, please, I don’t have access.” 

He tested the knob anyway. She’d been telling the truth. He re-holstered the gun and switched back to Coulson and Milton. 

“Nest, this is Hawkeye. Communicator seems to be back up but Black Widow is still unresponsive. There’s a basement, I’m going down.”

“We’re sending in a secondary team,” Agent Milton advised.

“Do not go barreling down there like a big damn hero. Proceed with caution, report before engaging,” Agent Coulson added. “Do you copy?”

“Yeah, I copy,” Agent Barton muttered. “Stairwell’s in the south-east corner, along the east wall.” He switched back to Natasha’s channel before they could respond. Clint quickly stripped the pins from the hinges and eased the door out of its frame. If any of the patrons noticed, no one stopped him. He stalked silently down the stairs, trying to slow his hammering heart. There wasn't a door at the bottom; the staircase opened to a cluttered, dimly lit room. Clint made his way in, peering over and around stacks of dusty cardboard boxes. He didn't have far to go.

“I’m next,” a man said in German.

“You went first last time,” a second man complained. 

Clint moved past the boxes and saw them. Both were armed, both keeping a lazy watch on their surroundings. He crept behind a cabinet and peeked out around the far side. 

There was Natasha. Her hair fanned out over the filthy concrete. Her eyes stared up at the ceiling, blinking slowly. The hem of her dress had been pushed up around her waist. The target knelt between her thighs with his pants around his knees, grunting quietly. Clint drew a steadying breath and fired twice. Both found the dealer’s head and he slumped over. The guards cursed.

Twisting slightly, Clint fired again. A loud shot, unmuffled, rant out and a bullet grazed his shoulder. Ignoring it, Barton squeezed off one more shot and the second guard joined the first on the floor. He forced himself to wait, counting to five then ten as he watched and listened for anyone who had heard the cursing or the gunshot. No one came. The men weren’t moving. Neither was Natasha. He kicked the weapons away from their hands as he passed. 

Checking his surroundings once more, Clint tucked the pistol into the back of his waistband. He needed both hands to pull the drug dealer’s body off Natasha. He dumped it to the side. She was covered in the man’s blood and a bit of what Clint was pretty sure was skull gleamed whitely in her hair. She was breathing but shallowly. Slow labored breaths. Her pulse seemed likewise sluggish, especially considering the adrenaline rush he was feeling. He tugged her dress back down. There was a pair of torn panties a few feet away. 

“Can you hear me?”

Her eyes moved, focusing on his face. She blinked deliberately. 

“We need medical,” Agent Barton barked into his comm. “Help’s on the way,” he assured her. “You’re going to be okay.” He stayed close and didn’t touch her, pulling out the gun again when he heard footsteps.   
He lowered his weapon when he saw the agents. The senior agent seemed familiar, but Clint couldn’t recall his name. “Over here,” he called out. “Is there a medical team?”

“They took the elevator,” one of the agents answered, checking the bodyguards for vital signs. 

“What a mess,” the senior agent observed, looking at the blood pooling on the floor.

“Oh man,” a third agent announced as he came around the cabinet. “I could’ve gone my whole life without seeing half-naked dead German drug dealer and been happier for it.”

The first agent laughed. “Search him.”

“The pantsless dude?”

“No, Saunders. Yeah, the pantsless dude.”

“Anyway, he’s Hungarian,” Saunders remarked, kneeling next to Natasha, across from Clint. He checked her pulse as well and Clint fought the urge to push his hand away. “You think they drugged her?”

“I guess,” Clint answered. 

“Probably the same stuff the club patrons got.” He glanced over his shoulder at the other agents. “Seriously, Greenley, check the bodies. There should be drugs on at least one of them.”

The medical team arrived with Coulson and Milton on their heels. Saunders stood, brushing the dust off his knees and offered a hand to Clint. 

“Abel Saunders.”

“Phil Coulson.”

“Milton, Tom,” Agent Milton sounded a bit dazed. He was staring past the man at Agent Romanoff. 

“You two have this in hand? I’ll take the upstairs,” Saunders offered. 

“I’d appreciate that,” Phil nodded. 

The medical team had loaded Natasha onto a stretcher and Phil put out a hand to stop Clint from following. 

“We need to know what happened here,” Coulson said gently. 

Milton touched Coulson’s arm lightly. “I’ll take care of things here,” he whispered. His eyes flickered to the stretcher being loaded onto the elevator. “Can you go with…them?” Coulson frowned, studied the other agent’s face for a moment, then nodded.

“Of course, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

When Agent Milton turned back, Barton was staring at him. Clint couldn't imagine Phil sending another agent with him to medical and staying behind for paperwork and cleanup. And Phil actually liked paperwork. Milton’s expression hardened. 

“Alright Agent Barton, let’s get this over with.”

***

Clint was sitting in the waiting area when Phil came back from the restroom. 

“Everything go okay with the club?”

Clint didn't answer, didn't even look up. Phil sighed and settled into the uncomfortable plastic chair next to him. He waited. Clint dug at his cuticles with the edge of his thumbnail. He tapped his toes inside his boots, his feet wiggling slightly. He scanned the tiles of the floor and sniffled. Phil watched the archer get more and more fidgety and finally set his hand on Clint’s knee.

“It wasn't your fault.”

Clint looked into Phil’s face before shaking his head and looking away. 

“Clint?”

He refused to look at Phil. He just stared at his hands and sniffled again. Phil scowled to himself and got up. He moved in front of Clint and crouched down so he could look into the other man’s face.

“You didn't do anything wrong.”

“Agent Milton disagrees,” Clint said wryly. “I should've incapacitated the guards, not killed them and subdued Werner, not killed him. Phil, Phil, why didn't you tell me there was no killing on this mission? I could’ve packed my rubber bullets.” His voice was bitter. 

“I can’t pretend it wouldn't be nice to have someone to,” Phil cracked his knuckles emphatically, “question right now. But what’s done is done. You protected your partner, which was your primary. We confiscated some of the altered drugs; the lab says that Agent Romanoff’s blood samples are likely to be even more helpful than the pills….”

Clint snorted derisively. “So that’s it. We got what we needed; mission is a success, pat on the back and go on to the next?” He looked down the hallway. “What about her?”

Phil sighed. “You can see her if you want. It’s mostly worn off. Based on what happened when we brought her in, I’d say it would last 8-10 hours for most people.”

Clint looked at the clock. It’d been just under four hours since the comm went dead. “Which room?”

Phil stood and smiled wanly. “I’ll show you. I’ll wait outside.”

Phil led him to a door with 216 on the frame. “You want a coffee? I’ll be back in twenty minutes or so?”

Clint nodded absently, trying to figure out what to say to Agent Romanoff. He deflated a little when he opened the door. She looked so small in the bed, a tube running up from her thin arm, a set of wires that vanished under the hospital gown. Her eyes were closed but they opened when he approached. Her face seemed to soften when she saw that it was him, but maybe he’d imagined that. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

“For what?” she frowned. “Agent Coulson said the mission was a success.”

Clint stared at her for moment as though she’d grown monstrous. “For…for letting you get r-… hurt,” he finally stammered.

She shook her head a little. “I’m okay,” her voice was soft and reassuring. She even managed a hint of a smile. His worry was endearing.

Clint was still frowning, still horrified. He shook his head firmly. “I was there to protect you; that was my primary. I shouldn't have let you out of my sight. I should've moved faster when I lost contact,” the words spilled out faster than he could think about them. She reached out for him, her fingertips barely brushing his forearm.

“I’m really okay.”

“I don’t see how you possibly could be.”

“It’s not my first rodeo, cowboy,” she answered with a little shrug. “ I've survived worse.”

The horrified look returned his face. He shook his head again. “That…that doesn’t make it okay. That doesn’t mean you’re okay. You don’t get used to…something like that. It doesn’t get easier the more it happens, it doesn’t become acceptable or tolerable.”

Natasha studied his face for a moment. His cheeks were flushed with emotion after his impassioned speech. His fists were clenched and he practically trembled. 

“Of course,” she said gently. “How many times have you been raped?”

It wasn't an accusation. She knew. Somehow she looked right through him and into his past like a damned fortune teller. Clint all but ran from the room. He nearly collided with Coulson in the hall.

“Can we go?” He asked, almost frantically, his voice shaking. 

Phil frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Clint struggled for words, his face contorted with the effort. “Everything,” he spat out after a long pause. Coulson pursed his lips and pressed a coffee cup into Clint’s hand.

“Okay. Let’s go.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More non-con, both past and present.

The ride to the hotel was short and silent. Phil turned off the car in the parking lot and waited.

“Agent Romanoff and I managed to get into an argument while you were getting coffee.” With a little distance from the hospital room, Clint felt ashamed of the way he’d acted. 

“What did you argue about?”

“Whether or not she’s okay,” Clint laughed bitterly. 

“I see. And which side were you on?”

“She said she’d been through worse, that it ‘wasn’t her first rodeo’ and that she was okay.” Clint shook his head. “I went off on her. How could she be okay?”

“She’s lying,” Phil replied simply. “To you, to herself, probably to her doctor, definitely to her shrink. Lying and hoping it’ll become the truth.”

Clint looked up at the hotel. Two queen beds in one room waited for them. “Can I sleep in your bed?” his voice was small and hoarse. 

“Can I sleep in it too? Because otherwise, they’re pretty much identical and I thought you preferred the one by the window…”

Clint silenced him with a kiss. “I don’t want to be alone.” Ever again. They didn’t talk but held hands as they walked up to the room. Clint tossed his half-full coffee cup in the trash and stripped down to his boxers and fell into bed. He was asleep by the time Phil finished flossing. 

***

Agent Coulson and Agent Barton flew back to New York the next morning. Given how the mission had gone, Clint wasn't surprised to see that, aside from an appointment with Dr. Li from psych, he had four days of downtime to look forward to. 

It was Dr. Li, of course, who insisted on exploring the possibility that witnessing a sexual assault could trigger post-traumatic flashbacks to Barton’s own experiences. Clint talked about Buenos Aires but when the psychologist asked about Dallas, he walked out. He wasn't sure that would count as a completed visit and didn't care.

The next day, after Phil had gone in to work, Clint decided to clean the apartment and hit the grocery store. He wasn't working, there was no good reason Phil couldn't come home to a clean place and dinner on the table. He felt better when he could stay busy.

After dinner, Phil insisted on doing the dishes and they settled in on the couch to watch a movie. It got late enough that Phil started to make noises about going to bed and Clint begged him to stay up just ‘til the end of the movie, promising to tuck him in very nicely. 

There was a knock at the door. Frowning, Phil retrieved his sidearm from the end table and checked the peephole. Clint slipped his bow out from under the couch. Phil tucked the pistol into his waistband and unlocked the door, his frown didn't waver.

Natasha stood in the door way, the right side of her face covered in sticky, half-dried blood. She looked at them with bloodshot eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Phil asked gently, stepping back to allow her access to the apartment.

“You said you cared,” she sniffled accusatorily. She drew a hitching breath. “You said you’d help if…”

“Did something happen with Agent Milton?”

Clint had laid the bow on the coffee table and was wetting a rag at the kitchen sink. He froze when he heard Phil’s question. He looked up to see Natasha nodding shakily. 

“Do we need to head to medical?”

She shook her head emphatically. Phil reached past her to close the door.

“Okay,” he said calmly. “What happened?”

Clint padded over cautiously and Phil took the rag from him. Natasha’s eyes flicked from Phil to Clint and she wrapped her arms around herself in a protective hug. Phil waited until she looked back at him and reached out to wipe the blood away. He started at her neck, gently working up. Fresh bruises were forming just under her jaw and she winced as he rubbed across them. 

“I was in the shower when he came in. He didn't give me time to dry off or get dressed; he just…started touching me.”

Her hair was still wet, it hadn't been long. “He wanted,” she looked down the floor. “I imagine you know what he wanted."

“Ice,” Phil whispered, glancing at Clint. Clint headed obediently back into the kitchen to make up an ice pack.

Natasha looked up at him, a puzzled expression overtaking her wounded features. “He wanted to fuck me.”

“ You've got a little bump on your head,” Phil explained patiently. “What happened?”

“He got mad when I told him no, smacked my head against the sink.” She reached up, touching the back of Phil’s hand lightly and he stopped in his ministrations. He’d gotten her neck and cheek clean and was working the blood out of her eyebrow. She met Phil’s eyes, close to tears, and let her hand fall to her side. “I tried to tell him that I couldn't. It’s too soon after…the nightclub. I’m bruised inside.”

She looked away again and her eyes seemed a little vacant. Phil began working again, carefully avoiding the cut just below her hairline. Clint stood back a few paces, passing the ice pack from one hand to the other. 

“He fucking did it anyway,” Clint growled. 

“No,” Natasha squeaked. “He used the other hole. It hurt so bad; I just wanted him to stop…” She suddenly looked back at Phil guiltily. “I think I broke his nose.”

Both men looked surprised. 

“Good for you,” Clint exclaimed. It broke enough of the tension that he came closer and traded Phil the ice for the bloodied rag. 

“Natasha, if he raped you, you have to go to medical,” Phil insisted. “You could be injured and they’ll need to gather evidence.”

“I know. I don’t want to go. It’ll heal on its own, I’ll be okay. I just don’t want anyone else touching me right now.”

“There are female doctors on staff,” Phil offered. He looked down at the ice pack and handed it to her. “I’m sorry.” He walked back over to the couch, finding his phone on the arm. “This happened in your apartment?”

“Yeah.” Natasha looked at the ice pack like she’d never seen such a thing before. Clint reached out and gently guided it to the lump on her forehead. 

“Maria?” Phil spoke softly into the phone. “It’s Phil. Well, I've been better. I need you do something for me. It’s Agent Milton. Yeah, Tom.” He glanced over at Clint and Natasha. “Send a team over to Agent Romanoff’s apartment to pick him up, and shut him down, just in case. Everything: travel privileges, bank accounts, and send a photo to local hospitals, he might be seeking treatment for a broken nose.” He nodded. “I just want to talk to him. Hey, one more thing. Who’s the doctor on call tonight? Thanks.”

“It’s your lucky night,” Phil said gently as he walked back over. “The doctor on call is a woman, a very kind woman. Will you let me take you to her?”

Natasha hesitated. She looked at the bloody cloth still clutched in Clint’s hand. She nodded, just the faintest bit of movement. Phil and Clint traded places, with Clint rushing towards the couch and Phil grabbing two jackets. He slipped one on and started to put the other over Natasha’s shoulders before thinking better of it. 

“Here.” He handed it to her. She pulled it on and pressed the ice back against her forehead. “Where do you think you’re going, Clint?” Phil asked with a frown.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Clint replied coolly, collecting his bow and quiver. 

“You can come with us to medical or you can stay here, watch the rest of the movie and go to bed. You’re not going after Milton.”

“Like Hell.”

Phil frowned and handed Natasha his keys. “Can you warm up the car? I’ll be right behind you.”

“Don’t make me go out there alone.” Her voice was shaking and fat tears began to roll down her cheeks. 

“Okay, okay,” Phil reassured her quickly. “I just…”

“You coming, Barton?” Natasha asked, fixing him in her gaze. 

He set the bow down and slunk over. “Six.”

Natasha nodded shakily. 

“You?” Clint asked in a conversational tone. 

“More than six.” 

They didn't talk on the way to medical. Clint settled into the uncomfortable plastic chairs. She wouldn't let Phil leave her side.


	6. Chapter 6

Three days later, Coulson, Barton and Romanoff were settling in at a cozy three-bedroom house just outside of Syracuse. Barton and Coulson were settling in. Romanoff hadn't said much since leaving Phil’s apartment. They’d just sat down to dinner when the phone rang and Phil excused himself.

“So,” Clint began. “We haven’t really gotten to know each other. I mean, we work together all the time, but we never spend any downtime together. What do you like?”

“Like?” Natasha asked with a puzzled frown. 

“Yeah, like, dislike, what are you interested in? Outside of missions. You have a personality, right, not just a series of personae?”

Her eyes flicked towards the doorway Coulson had disappeared through. “What are your preferences?”

“Well,” Clint speared a piece of chicken with his fork and chose to ignore her innuendo. “I like fried chicken, hate cotton candy. I like action movies and, uh, dark stout.” He popped the meat into his mouth, chewing while he thought. He swallowed as Phil settled back into the chair next to him. “I like Queen and the Rolling Stones. I don’t like country music, but I secretly enjoy line dancing. I have whatever the opposite of a fear of heights is.”

“Acrophilia,” Natasha supplied. 

“We’re talking about preferences,” Clint explained to Phil. “Liking things and wanting things that aren’t work related.” He didn’t mention that it’d been Dr. Li’s suggestion.

“I like classical music,” Coulson offered up. “The works of Magritte, garlic, Super Nanny, bananas foster. I don’t eat beef and I hate cilantro.”

Natasha was silent, absorbing their answers.

“My favorite color is purple,” Clint added.

“Blue,” Coulson replied.

“Red,” Natasha said softly. “I think it’s red. Maybe it’s supposed to be red.” She wondered if all the Widows liked red. 

“Maybe you’re overthinking this,” Clint frowned.

“Don't worry about it,” Phil said gently. “What else do you like?”

“I like snow,” Natasha answered after a lengthy pause.

“I like rain,” Phil responded.

“I like sunshine, warm weather, no wind,” Clint specified. “You two are both crazy.”

“You like rain?” Natasha asked, giving Phil an encouraging smile.

“I like the way it smells.”

They went around and around, trading likes and dislikes and preferences until Phil excused himself to bed. Left alone, the lulls between Clint and Natasha’s responses grew in length. 

“I like older men and younger women,” Clint declared after a particularly long stretch of silence. 

“I don’t think I like sex,” she admitted, staring at her reflection in the kitchen window. 

“I didn't mean you,” Clint said quickly. “The younger women thing. I just meant in general.”

“I’m not younger than you,” Natasha replied. “And my comment was unrelated to yours.”

Clint wasn't sure what to say to that. “I thought the same thing for a while. Like I might be asexual. I didn't like sex, didn't like being touched.” He slowly stretched out an experimental hand, letting it hover over hers until she retreated, sliding her palm across the table and out of reach. 

“But that’s not the case now?”

“I met someone,” Clint explained. “Someone very attractive, mentally and physically. Someone who respected me and was patient. I liked that very much. I didn't like being used. Being…abused and raped. I felt safe with her. I liked it just fine.” He shrugged. “It didn't last, but she was really good for me at the time.”

"And now?" Natasha asked. "With Phil?"

"He knows about all six. Even Dr. Li only knows the four that happened during my time with SHIELD. As far as I know, Fury only knows about those four. I trust Phil."

“So you think I just need to find the right person?”

Clint shook his head. “Not at all what I’m saying. There’s nothing wrong with you if you don’t like sex. But it’s also understandable that you might be a little gun-shy, so to speak. I was. I wish I could promise you that true love would fix everything. Or anything. But if you do meet someone you’re interested, you might enjoy it. You might not.”

“I enjoyed my first lover,” Natasha admitted and if she was blushing it was impossible to tell in the dim light. Her smile was fond and a little sad.

“What did you like about him?”

“Everything.” Natasha’s quiet answer came after a long pause and she had a distant look on her face. Her cheeks were dry, but her eyes shone with moisture. 

They let the silence stretch out, conversation yielding to the ticking of the clock. 

***

Phil’s eyes opened at the creak of a floorboard in the hall. He was carefully extricating himself from Clint’s embrace when he heard a soft knock at the bedroom door. Thieves and assassins seldom knocked. He crossed the room silently and slowly pulled the door open a crack. 

Natasha stared at him from the doorway, hair rumpled, cheeks wet, arms crossed over her chest. It was all too familiar and Phil’s posture softened.

“Bad dreams?” he asked softly, hoping it was nothing more.

“Bad memories,” she whispered. 

“Cuddle?”

She smiled. “That’d be…nice.” 

“Crawl in next to Clint, try to save me some space. I’m just going to use the restroom.” He slipped past her. He used the restroom, washed and dried his hands, then thoroughly checked the house, ensuring all the windows and doors were locked and the alarm was set. 

Barton was sprawled across two-thirds of the queen-sized bed, despite having his own room and his own bed next door. Natasha carefully wiggled in next to him, deliberately crowding him back towards his side. She seemed calmer when Phil returned from his inspection.

“Do you want the edge?” He didn't want her to feel trapped.

“I want the middle.” Anyone who came in the window would have to face Clint; anyone who came in the door would have Phil to deal with. Phil cautiously settled down next to her and Natasha grabbed his arm, pulling it across her body so his hand could rest on Clint’s shoulder. She fell asleep tucked between them. She dreamed she was safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any suggestions for a better title, please comment. This was my fifth attempt to name this thing and I'm still not thrilled. But I got to address my one reservation about Clint and Coulson as a couple. And I got to torment Clint and Natasha, which is one of my favorite pastimes.


End file.
